Do not judge and you will not be judged Do not condemn and you will not be condemned, Forgive and you will be forgiven.
If you can feel nothing for another’s misery Then Sin’dorei is no name for you.
Divine Light Bright Light Warm Light Sacred Light Holy Light Bless us with peace In our self and beyond.
I will not pray to Belore to be sheltered from dangers But instead to face them without fear I will not pray for Belore to ask my pain be numbed and removed But to show me the error of my ways so I may grow I will not pray to Belore to take all my troubles from me For such is life and to go through life without trouble is to be untested I will not pray to Belore to save me in anxious fear Is not not cowardice to face an enemy without fear Belore, burn away my impurities and come victory or failure let me feel the touch of your fires in my soul.
As you leave this place May Belore go with you. May her sunlight fall down on you, to encourage you Above you from the sky, to lift you from your sorrows May Belore’s sunlight and fire give you the strength you need to carry and lift your burdens And to always light your path and show you the way.
We followed his on his journey singing On a bird made of fire From which fire trailed behind We rose so high in the sky we saw stars. We did not know then what we knew now That we would return home alone
Hear my cry Belore Listen to my Prayer From the darkest depths, the ends of Azeroth I call to you I call as my heartbeat grows faint Guide me with your light to safety For you have been my shelter My strength against my foes I long to dwell in your light forever In the land that knows no winter.
Divine fire from the sun Brightly burning phoenix Born to live but for a moment Only to find death And reborn again like the sun
Hail to Belore the sun Goddess! Hail, to you Sin’dorei! Hail to to the White Moon and the Blue Child! With watchful eyes look over us See to our safety Hail to you Belore, Hail to you Gods of the sea! Hail, to the Sunwell that gives to us all! Goodly warmth and spells from us to you And healing hands in this life.
To Belore, The Eternal Flame To Belore, The Unsurpassable Mage To Belore, Mother of Phoenixes To Belore, the source of my comfort, I make this offering
I am the sun ripened grain, offered up to the scythe
So that all may be nourished
Without planting there will be no harvest
Without me there would be no spring
I am the God and Goddess of Thousands of names
But know that by all names I am the same
The freedom of the forest, the cycle of harvest
Look to my yearly cycle of my birth, death, and rebirth
And know that such is the destiny of creation
I am Belore, the Sun God. The Radiant Sun, giver of Light and Warmth.
Listen to the words of the Sun, who was called a thousand names before you knew him and will be known by thousands of names after you’ve known him. I am Belore.
My Light is what gives strength to all creation. Mine is the secret of life. Mine is the forests of Quel’thals that will never again see winter. I give knowledge of life, the arcane, and beyond death I will hold you close.
I am the sacrifice; the soldier that falls in battle, the Farstrider that watches from the trees, the mage guarding the Sunwell, the lynx padding through the forest. Hear the words of the Sun God Belore, the music of whose laughter is heard in the wind and through his grace no winter touches Quel’thalas. I am the Lord of the Hunt and the lightbringer, the sun among the clouds, and the father of all phoenixes. For I am the flesh of Quel’thalas and all of my people.
Let my worship be in the flickering fires of your hearth and mage light, in the words that you sing, all acts of willing sacrifice are my rituals. Do not surpress desire and fear, anger and weakness, peace and joy, awe and longing within you. These are part of the mysteries found within yourself and in me. Behold, I am that which has been with you since the beginning and that which at attained at the end of desire.
I sing this prayer to the Sun
The Mother of Phoenixes
To her wild, burning, feminine dance
To her who is born in the winter and reborn in the spring
To the light she gives us all to guide our path
Belore
Let my arrows always strike true
Fill me with your strength
That I might never fall at my post
So i can travel far and rest easy
Dance beneath the trees and be on with the forest
And drink deep of all that is set before me
Listen!
The Sun Goddess Speaks
“I am the fire in your spirit,
The yearning in your soul
The love that warms your heart
I am the mystery hidden in plain sight
And the seeker of the phoenix flame;
I stand and chase the dark away
I am the Light of creation
I am Goddess and God, I am Mother and Father of Phoenixes
I am the fire you adore, call to me…”
Bright Belore, the sun
Whose fire will not be tamed
Those that attempt to tarnish you
Do not realize the futility of their actions
Fill me with your fire and strength
I will bow to none
Above all I will stand
Fill me with your fire Belore
That i may find my own destiny and rise above.
Bright and fiery arrow!
Blaze kindly into my life
God of the Eternal Spring
Grow ever more verdant and lush
Lord of Poetry and Magic
Dance on my tongue like arcane sparks on my hands
Guardian of the Runestones and the Sunwell
Grant me your blessing and sate my thirst
Thank you, Exalted One, for your light and and nourishment.
Do not judge and you will not be judged Do not condemn and you will not be condemned, Forgive and you will be forgiven.
If you can feel nothing for another’s misery Then Sin’dorei is no name for you.
Divine Light Bright Light Warm Light Sacred Light Holy Light Bless us with peace In our self and beyond.
I will not pray to Belore to be sheltered from dangers But instead to face them without fear I will not pray for Belore to ask my pain be numbed and removed But to show me the error of my ways so I may grow I will not pray to Belore to take all my troubles from me For such is life and to go through life without trouble is to be untested I will not pray to Belore to save me in anxious fear Is not not cowardice to face an enemy without fear Belore, burn away my impurities and come victory or failure let me feel the touch of your fires in my soul.
As you leave this place May Belore go with you. May her sunlight fall down on you, to encourage you Above you from the sky, to lift you from your sorrows May Belore’s sunlight and fire give you the strength you need to carry and lift your burdens And to always light your path and show you the way.
We followed his on his journey singing On a bird made of fire From which fire trailed behind We rose so high in the sky we saw stars. We did not know then what we knew now That we would return home alone
Hear my cry Belore Listen to my Prayer From the darkest depths, the ends of Azeroth I call to you I call as my heartbeat grows faint Guide me with your light to safety For you have been my shelter My strength against my foes I long to dwell in your light forever In the land that knows no winter.
Divine fire from the sun Brightly burning phoenix Born to live but for a moment Only to find death And reborn again like the sun
Hail to Belore the sun Goddess! Hail, to you Sin’dorei! Hail to to the White Moon and the Blue Child! With watchful eyes look over us See to our safety Hail to you Belore, Hail to you Gods of the sea! Hail, to the Sunwell that gives to us all! Goodly warmth and spells from us to you And healing hands in this life.
To Belore, The Eternal Flame To Belore, The Unsurpassable Mage To Belore, Mother of Phoenixes To Belore, the source of my comfort, I make this offering
“Can you hear them calling you?” The stone caves were cold- he had forgotten that each time he’d come here before he’d come with others. “The hunters of souls call for ours.” Fever had caught hold of Tyleril some time ago. When he wasn’t certain. But no cave had a right to feel this cold or this empty.
“The doorkeep needs close the door.” The baby had grown quiet. It had heightened his fear and anxiety even though his hand could feel the rise and fall of the baby’s tiny chest. He hoped that his words kept the baby tethered to life. As angry and unwilling as the baby was to go into the long night it wasn’t enough.
“Armand! Dornall- anyone.” Were there undead here? It was surprisingly clean of the smell of rot. Like fresh water and green plants. Maybe old wards still held or this was not found when the Fall came. “It’s me, Tyleril. I’ve returned. I-” What could he say to ghosts?
As he wandered down the cave tunnel with only a flcikering candlelight and memory to guide him he was unsure. “I know I refused the first time. You said it would change me to take on the blessing. I wasn’t willing to take it then and- if it’s not late now I would like to try.” Nothing responded to his words as his candle sputtered. He still remembered Armand’s face, peppered hair and skin like leather. The smell of cologne and his glasses.
Armond shrugged, tossing another handful of gathered twigs into the fire. Tyleril had never spent much time around humans before he left Quel’thalas and something about how quickly Armond had aged in their short time together bothered him. When their jokes and conversation failed to distract his mind he was often studying his mentor.
“You don’t ever use the blessing you have.” He remarked to Armond casually. “Why?”
Armond tapped his chest. “My heart is weak. Using it again could possibly kill me. It is not that i can’t but rather whether the strain of it will overwhelm my heart.” His face was so often impish that the sudden serious expression looked off. “Mine is battle related sooo…” He shrugged and gave the young elf a sly smile. “Each of them are different. Some are purely combat oriented, others are good for healing or enchanting- the Gods are wise enough to understand that not all of us have the same skillsets.”
“You won’t tell me how you got your blessing.” Tyleril guessed. It wasn’t a question and something gleamed in his mentor’s eye. Amusement?
“No. When you graduate from being a novice you’ll learn it. Since you’re the only elf they might even allow you to try right away. It’s only a year Tyleril. Then when you are on your own I can retire and you can take up where I left off.”
“What happens when I do take one?” They were all so very vague whenever those blessings came up. But the promise of power was alluring and it was not something he could easily let go.
Armond was silent for a long time.
“That’s up to the Gods if you survive it.”
It was their last conversation and the last time he’d seen his mentor alive was his mentor leaving to go to his room at the inn they stayed at. The promise of power had kept Tyleril with the circle for a while longer until he returned to Quel’thalas. He forgot how quickly humans aged and when he returned, expecting to see them all again he had found only their graves and whispers of their passing.
Now when he returned again it was to walk where the ghosts of his memories stayed. The tunnel he followed whispered with each step of his leather boots. The darkness leeched at his candle light with each step, intent on denying him his sight. The sharp pangs continued to claw at his soul to leave a hunger he couldn’t feed and pain that wouldn’t dull. With a soft hiss the candle died, leaving Tyleril and the baby immersed in total darkness.
The warhammer had to be put away so he could reach out and feel clumsily. “Hold on.” He whispered to the child. “Please keep breathing. Stay from the shadows a bit longer.” Moving slowly as he blindly felt his way through the halls Tyleril found himself straining to call upon the Light. He called out for it in whispers, repeating his prayers loudly in his mind.
How long had he casually called upon the Light and taken it for granted? His healing, spells used in righteous anger, casually levitating. The Light was always there, he’d assumed. He was a Priest in title but had he really been a good priest? The thought stung.
He didn’t know the answer.
“We closed the door to so the keep stays safe. The mead fires will burn till dawn.” For all of his efforts it felt like claws were digging into his chest but a dim glow came to life on the hand that held the baby swaddled in blankets. In the dark he didn’t notice his flushed skin, the sound of comforting whispers becoming feverish and delusional.
“Far away… far away.”
The holy magic sank into blue and gold cloth. If there was a flesh wound the skin would knit together. If there was sickness the Light would ease it. The Light could be directed to heal and soothe many things that bothered the physical coil. In the hands of a stronger Priest, a better one the Light would have given strength.
It simply drained Tyleril further.
“I’m fine.”
The baby didn’t respond to his talk but Tyleril told himself the baby was only asleep.
The last site that belonged to the Spiral was nothing- not, compared to the groves and few temples Tyleril had known from his time as a novice. What had compelled them to move the stones that held their prized ‘blessings’ he never knew. Perhaps a religion that was slowly dying lacked the security a grand temple once had and they were forced to move them.
Whatever the answer was it was lost to history now. The groves lost and the temples were gone. Even the bodies of the Spiral priests had become dust. The cavern he sought now simply held the last few reminders that the Spiral had ever existed.
The world had collapsed and fallen to ruin. Death had come for so many of his people.
Quel’thalas was a broken shadow of what it once was and her people were dying. He could only use so much magic before he’d collapse. He couldn’t feed them the magic that they needed. Not enough, never enough. The sharp ache of mana addiction had him too. Like all of his people. All of the Quel’dor- Sin’dorei suffered now. The Sunwell was gone. Hope too, seemed to be gone.
How many of the elder elves and children had he buried and prayed over and watched die? The thought was enough to darken his mood, even in this place. Surrounded by once green trees that were now brown and rotting. The earth was devoid of life and each step of his boots crushed dead grass and plants to dust. Anxiety knotted his stomach, stress forced him to remain alert with each noise making his heart rate jump sharply. Each crunch of dead plantlife or sharp snap of branches was a lurking undead or banshee waiting to kill him.
A fool’s mission… Her words whispered in his mind again.
In his heavy cloth and leather armor he made to much noise. The warhammer in his right hand was made to take down armoured knights and war machines. He could dent plate with the hammer end and use the sharpened claw to damage and tear the plate apart. The wooden handle of it was studded with metal that his thumb brushed against with every sharp pang of withdrawal. The bundle of blue and silver cloth in his other arm was held closely to his chest. It was so still that if it wasn’t for his hand pressed against the cloth to feel the faint warmth he’d have thought the baby had passed to the next world.
Something tugged in his heart as he stumbled and the baby made not a single sound. A small fist weakly waved.
“Don’t die.” He told the bundle of cloth. “You don’t even have a fucking name- you can’t die.” Whatever tugged in his chest had drove him to take the baby. He knew the baby would die before long- that the child had survived pregnancy was a miracle. The child had been too quiet since he came into the world and Tyleril had been the first to hold him in his arms. “I can save you. Just hold on.”
No response from the newborn in his bundle. But should he really have expected one?
No matter. He was close. He knew he was close. What had Armand said to him? “Fourth stone, middle center. Call on the Lady and Consort.” He muttered. The pangs of hunger struck him again as he gathered his magic in his hand.
Clouds gathered in the sky above them. There was no moon to light the forests up tonight. Nothing to guide him but memories and an awakened parental instinct to save his child. No matter the cost. “Light save me.” He whispered. He licked his chapped lips as a low moan whispered through the trees. They were so close now he recognized some of the old ruins around them.
Almost four hundred years ago the religious order he had joined were dying. The Spiral, as they had called themselves, was a group of humans who mixed their religion with druidism and the Light. The circle had never gotten a huge following but had endured for countless centuries. To proselytize was abhorrent to the Circle. Perhaps that was part of their downfall as time progressed and people grew uninterested as other things like the Church of the Light grew in popularity. That and their stolen blessings.
The Circle had a sacred place. Twelve stones in a spiral, hidden in a old cave and guarded by twists and turns. The floors and walls were etched with the stories of their religion and countless clay pots. The stones were the most fascinating, covered in designs so old Tyleril had no name for them. Each stone, he had been told, held its own blessing at some point or the other. And those blessings were only given to ‘the worthy’. Tyleril knew that worthy was only a way to say ‘if you can’t handle it you’ll die’. His mentor had told him once that the blessings had required something. But what he couldn’t recall. The tale of Dornall the Adamant ran through his mind. The cracked stones in the circle held no blessings now- if their bearer died before they could return them then the blessings died with the wielder.
The blessings were doubtless gone now. Time had worn the stones down and they’d be cracked-
A soft noise escaped the bundle. A pitiful sound as the child demanded something Tyleril couldn’t guess at. Tiny hands escaped the cloth to become fists waving angrily at the world. “Ssshh baby, baby shh.” He tried to soothe the boy,leaning to let his long brown hair fall over the bundle.
The smell of rot grew as another moan whispered between the trees.
Light, save him. For my babe, your child, is dying.
Dry twigs snapped. They had gotten so close to the caves after days of his walking. They were so close now. His hand gripped the long handle of his warhammer. “Ssshh, can you hear the Lady crying for you? If you’re quiet the hunter of souls will pass us by and we’ll call in the spring.” An old story the circle had told him.
But not enough to soothe the outraged, reedy, and weakened scream. The child wasn’t willing to go quietly into the long night. Another sound of outrage escaped that, were Tyleril not so weakened and alarmed, would have made him proud and talk about how his son- when did the child become his?- would become a great warrior.
But as shadows took shape not to far away from them all Tyleril could feel was fear. Murky yellow eyes glowed as the bloated corpse searched for the source of the noise. They focused on Tyleril and sickeningly lurched forward. Rotted flesh had swollen and burst, staining what was once the clothes of a magus. The hair was matted, the face torn away by claws and as its jaw opened bile escaped to fall upon the ground.
The caves weren’t far now and he chose to retreat. The undead kept advancing, murky eyes hungering as it reached for them. He couldn’t set his child down and to call the Light’s fury would attract more. As the undead got in reach Tyleril swung his hammer, twisting it so the clawed end sunk deep into the rotten flesh of its neck.
The undead staggered, forced to move as Tyleril pushed it away and down.
More whispers carried on the still night air. Others had heard their brief struggle. In the distance something wailed, sending chills down Tyleril’s spine.
Other undead were coming.
He glanced down to the child. The undead thrashed on the ground before its clawed hands found purchase. He could fight off one maybe. But as the sharp pangs of mana addiction clawed at his flesh and soul he decided to end this now.
“Light damn you.” Three simple words that filled him with righteous fury. He reached and grabbed his warhammer and that was all he needed to do. A sickening noise sounded as he puleld his hammer out, light striking the undead, stunning it.
“Hurry child, the shadows call for our souls.” He was cold but at least the baby would be warm in its cloth bundle as he turned and fled.
The world had collapsed and fallen to ruin. Death had come for so many of his people.
Quel’thalas was a broken shadow of what it once was and her people were dying. He could only use so much magic before he’d collapse. He couldn’t feed them the magic that they needed. Not enough, never enough. The sharp ache of mana addiction had him too. Like all of his people. All of the Quel’dor- Sin’dorei suffered now. The Sunwell was gone. Hope too, seemed to be gone.
How many of the elder elves and children had he buried and prayed over and watched die? The thought was enough to darken his mood, even in this place. Surrounded by once green trees that were now brown and rotting. The earth was devoid of life and each step of his boots crushed dead grass and plants to dust. Anxiety knotted his stomach, stress forced him to remain alert with each noise making his heart rate jump sharply. Each crunch of dead plantlife or sharp snap of branches was a lurking undead or banshee waiting to kill him.
A fool’s mission… Her words whispered in his mind again.
In his heavy cloth and leather armor he made to much noise. The warhammer in his right hand was made to take down armoured knights and war machines. He could dent plate with the hammer end and use the sharpened claw to damage and tear the plate apart. The wooden handle of it was studded with metal that his thumb brushed against with every sharp pang of withdrawal. The bundle of blue and silver cloth in his other arm was held closely to his chest. It was so still that if it wasn’t for his hand pressed against the cloth to feel the faint warmth he’d have thought the baby had passed to the next world.
Something tugged in his heart as he stumbled and the baby made not a single sound. A small fist weakly waved.
“Don’t die.” He told the bundle of cloth. “You don’t even have a fucking name- you can’t die.” Whatever tugged in his chest had drove him to take the baby. He knew the baby would die before long- that the child had survived pregnancy was a miracle. The child had been too quiet since he came into the world and Tyleril had been the first to hold him in his arms. “I can save you. Just hold on.”
No response from the newborn in his bundle. But should he really have expected one?
No matter. He was close. He knew he was close. What had Armand said to him? “Fourth stone, middle center. Call on the Lady and Consort.” He muttered. The pangs of hunger struck him again as he gathered his magic in his hand.
Clouds gathered in the sky above them. There was no moon to light the forests up tonight. Nothing to guide him but memories and an awakened parental instinct to save his child. No matter the cost. “Light save me.” He whispered. He licked his chapped lips as a low moan whispered through the trees. They were so close now he recognized some of the old ruins around them.
Almost four hundred years ago the religious order he had joined were dying. The Spiral, as they had called themselves, was a group of humans who mixed their religion with druidism and the Light. The circle had never gotten a huge following but had endured for countless centuries. To proselytize was abhorrent to the Circle. Perhaps that was part of their downfall as time progressed and people grew uninterested as other things like the Church of the Light grew in popularity. That and their stolen blessings.
The Circle had a sacred place. Twelve stones in a spiral, hidden in a old cave and guarded by twists and turns. The floors and walls were etched with the stories of their religion and countless clay pots. The stones were the most fascinating, covered in designs so old Tyleril had no name for them. Each stone, he had been told, held its own blessing at some point or the other. And those blessings were only given to ‘the worthy’. Tyleril knew that worthy was only a way to say ‘if you can’t handle it you’ll die’. His mentor had told him once that the blessings had required something. But what he couldn’t recall. The tale of Dornall the Adamant ran through his mind. The cracked stones in the circle held no blessings now- if their bearer died before they could return them then the blessings died with the wielder.
The blessings were doubtless gone now. Time had worn the stones down and they’d be cracked-
A soft noise escaped the bundle. A pitiful sound as the child demanded something Tyleril couldn’t guess at. Tiny hands escaped the cloth to become fists waving angrily at the world. “Ssshh baby, baby shh.” He tried to soothe the boy,leaning to let his long brown hair fall over the bundle.
The smell of rot grew as another moan whispered between the trees.
Light, save him. For my babe, your child, is dying.
Dry twigs snapped. They had gotten so close to the caves after days of his walking. They were so close now. His hand gripped the long handle of his warhammer. “Ssshh, can you hear the Lady crying for you? If you’re quiet the hunter of souls will pass us by and we’ll call in the spring.” An old story the circle had told him.
But not enough to soothe the outraged, reedy, and weakened scream. The child wasn’t willing to go quietly into the long night. Another sound of outrage escaped that, were Tyleril not so weakened and alarmed, would have made him proud and talk about how his son- when did the child become his?- would become a great warrior.
But as shadows took shape not to far away from them all Tyleril could feel was fear. Murky yellow eyes glowed as the bloated corpse searched for the source of the noise. They focused on Tyleril and sickeningly lurched forward. Rotted flesh had swollen and burst, staining what was once the clothes of a magus. The hair was matted, the face torn away by claws and as its jaw opened bile escaped to fall upon the ground.
The caves weren’t far now and he chose to retreat. The undead kept advancing, murky eyes hungering as it reached for them. He couldn’t set his child down and to call the Light’s fury would attract more. As the undead got in reach Tyleril swung his hammer, twisting it so the clawed end sunk deep into the rotten flesh of its neck.
The undead staggered, forced to move as Tyleril pushed it away and down.
More whispers carried on the still night air. Others had heard their brief struggle. In the distance something wailed, sending chills down Tyleril’s spine.
Other undead were coming.
He glanced down to the child. The undead thrashed on the ground before its clawed hands found purchase. He could fight off one maybe. But as the sharp pangs of mana addiction clawed at his flesh and soul he decided to end this now.
“Light damn you.” Three simple words that filled him with righteous fury. He reached and grabbed his warhammer and that was all he needed to do. A sickening noise sounded as he puleld his hammer out, light striking the undead, stunning it.
“Hurry child, the shadows call for our souls.” He was cold but at least the baby would be warm in its cloth bundle as he turned and fled.
Tyleril Silversword 
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